The Darkness Inside Me
by Venomis
Summary: Juice's life is turned upside down when he is transferred from Stockton Prison to Sea Gate Prison. After being released unexpectedly, he is awaited by a man who claims to be his twin. Juice is torn apart by his longing for love and safety while the voices in his head are telling him that trusting the infamous gangster is the stupidest thing he can do.
1. From Bad To Worse

Juice had already made peace with his fate. His life was over. It had been since the moment the prison gates closed behind him. Ever since there had been no way out anymore, no escape from hell. All he was now, was the plaything of a monster. Juice even underwent his tyranny stoically. He had been fighting his whole life; against the loneliness, against the ever returning negative thoughts, against his own cowardice. The voices in his head had prevailed. He was garbage; only stray dogs like Tully still had an interest in him. He was sinking deeper and deeper into the chaos in his head, let it consume him, at times believing that he was already dead.

A deep indifference came over him. Nothing mattered anymore. Juice was dead. With every mistake he had made, a part of him had died. What was left, was nothing but a mangled body in which the filth of society could stick its dick.

When he fled Queens and joined the Sons of Anarchy, he never thought it would end like this. That he would lose even more: his self-esteem, his dignity, his hope. His will to live.

Yet, he wasn't in a rush to die. Things wouldn't become better for him, he wouldn't find any peace. He believed in a heaven and a hell and he knew very well where he was going to end up. In the burning flames of hell. With other rotten souls. Murderers. Rapists. He wondered if he would see his brothers there and if they would still make him pay for what he had done – reminding him of his betrayal for eternity.

Warm fingers stroked his face. Juice wished they had been cold, or scorching hot. Now, he took solace in it; it was a warmth his body longed for.

"Where's your head at, little boy?"

Juice looked up. Ignoring his cellmate would only worsen his mood, Juice would gain nothing by it. Still, it was hard to find words and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't thinkin' anything," he said eventually when Tully kept staring at him. "Or maybe I was thinking about too many things."

It was a useless answer, but for Tully it was enough. He had answered like a good puppy, that was all he wanted.

"Let me read you something. Poetry always helps me to sort my thoughts."

Uninvited, Tully sat down on Juice's bed. Instinctively Juice shoved towards the wall.

"Lay your head in my lap, baby boy. Daddy knows you like it."

Juice knew these words should make him feel sick, but he obeyed in silence. He was far past the point of panicking. This routine was almost a relief, even if it made him feel ashamed. For a few moments he would know what was going to happen, the predictability giving his life a sense of normalcy.

Tully's fingers glided across his scalp as he recited his poem. Juice laid curled up next to the man he hated so much, his head resting in the guy's lap. He paid no attention to his rhyme, completely shutting out the man's voice. With closed eyes he concentrated on the fingers caressing his head, imagining those weren't the ones of a rapist. Of who else they could be, he did not know. There were no fond memories of loving parents or a sweet girlfriend. Chibs – he thought about Chibs. The best friend he ever had – but who hated him now. No, Chibs would never pet his head like this, so he imagined a random girl. Caramel brown skin, tiny black curls, a sweet smile.

The dream was quickly interrupted when Tully's caresses became more compelling, pushing Juice's face closer to his crotch. He could feel the man's erection grow.

"I'm ready for you baby boy. What would you like today?"

As always, the question made him feel nauseous. Tully made it sound like he had a choice, like this was his own decision, like he _wanted _this. It took away the resignation, the feeling that he had no choice but to suffer from the man's sexual fantasies. Tully turned him into an active participant by making him chose between sucking his dick or getting fucked. He hated both. The rapes hurt like hell, but at least he wasn't facing Tully which made it easier to create some mental distance. Sucking his dick... That was more intimate. More humiliating.

Before Juice could give an answer, there was a gruff voice behind him.

"Ortiz, get your stuff."

Confused, Juice looked over his shoulder. A guard had opened the shutter and was watching him.

"What?" he asked in a daze.

"Your stuff," the guard repeated. "You're being transferred."

Juice stared at the man in bewilderment. As much as he wanted to leave this place, he knew there was no chance he really would. Confused, he turned to face Tully. The man however looked just as baffled as Juice felt. The look in his eyes was dark and compelling, as if he wanted to persuade Juice to object.

In silence, Juice slipped off the bed and gathered the few belongings he had. He didn't dare to hope. There was no reason to believe this was a positive development. Yeah – he hated this place and he despised Tully, but he knew very well Tully was the only reason other inmates left him alone. Without his protection, he would be dragged even deeper into hell. Nevertheless, there was a spark of hope. A spark he hated, for it was extinguished time and again. Every time he was hoping for something; better circumstances, forgiveness or a new chance – he was met with disappointment. This time he told himself his situation wouldn't get better – and still, that hopeful whisper in his head didn't silence, trying to convince him that his penance was over, that his brothers realized that he had never wanted to hurt anyone, that if anything, it had been his love for them and his fear to lose them that had influenced his actions.

Juice had no idea why, but before he left his cell he looked over his shoulder. The expression on Tully's face was more than dissatisfaction alone because his plaything was taken from him; he even thought to see fear flicker in his eyes. Juice knew Jax had told the man to kill him. Tully had postponed it, he had refused to give up on his plaything so soon. That he was losing Juice now, would undoubtedly lead to consequences.

Juice turned around. The fate of his rapist should leave him indifferent. Still, there was a feeling of unrest in his chest. He had hated his situation, but he had somehow accepted it. It had given him peace of thought, something he'd craved for for years. No more surprises, no more backstabbing. He had waited for his inevitable dead. And now... Now he didn't know what to expect. There however was one thing he was sure of: there was no reason to assume that this would lead to something good. He had no friends, no people who cared about him – he couldn't think of anyone who'd be willing to help him. Whatever would happen to him now – it would be bad, maybe even worse than his life had been up to now.


	2. Still A Rose

Juice was the only one in the vehicle for prisoner transport — except for the two guards. He asked no questions to find out what the meaning of all this was. They wouldn't answer him anyway — and he didn't even want to know. His head was so chaotic he hoped his skull would explode before he'd arrive at his mysterious destination.

He had no idea how much time had passed by before the van finally stopped. Sighing deeply, he followed the instructions of the guards and headed outside. What was waiting for him? His execution? Had his former brothers changed their minds and did they want to kill him themselves?

Juice blinked his eyes because of the bright midday sun. Only when he'd gotten used to the light, he noticed that he was in an airport. Dazed, he was led into an airplane. He had to take the last stairs, where he stepped into a separated area. His guards sat down on both sides of him. A little further away he could hear voices, and he suspected it was a regular flight he was joining.

Things really started to become crazy. He really couldn't think of a reason why he needed to go to a different jail, and especially not why he would need an _airplane _to get there.

Until he heard their destination.

Harlem. New York.

He froze. No — _you got to be kidding me!_

There was no other explanation. Fear made his intestines squeeze, he wished Tully had slit his throat. For what _they _would do to him... They would burn him alive, cut him into pieces — maybe all of that.

Those felt like the longest hours of his life. The waiting, the terrible _waiting _while the most gruesome images were torturing him... It was a miracle his heart didn't give up. He suffered from at least three panic attacks, which his guards ignored. They probably wouldn't even care if he died. Oh — if he only would. If he only could die.

The rest of the flight passed by in a blur. He was completely tangled up in his thoughts, completely controlled by his fears. He barely noticed being pushed into another van.

More than ten years had passed by. It had been months since he'd thought about the prize on his head in his hometown. It was so fucking long ago... And yet, they had waited patiently. The moment the Sons washed their hands, they'd demanded his life.

Fear made him shiver. Oh — how he wished that branch had never snapped when he hung himself. That would have been a quick dead. The death of a coward — but he would neither die with honor now. Furthermore, a lot of people wouldn't have been hurt if he had died that day. He didn't know what god had kept him alive — but it was one who was gruesome.

After an one hour drive the van stopped again. By now his nerves couldn't endure much more; he noticed how he was retreating deeper and deeper inside his mind. He let the guards lead him outside the vehicle and felt confused when he wasn't met by gentlemen in suits who clearly belonged to the mob. Instead, he saw a by barbed wire surrounded building. Another prison.

But — _why? _

Why here, at the other side of the country?

He was pushed in the back because he wasn't moving, and in silence he entered the building. A new overall was shoved towards him while his other belongings were inspected. In the end, he was ordered to walk on with a nod of the head.

At first he was taken to his cell to put away his stuff, then the guard showed him the dining hall. It was around 7. Juice felt very self-conscious when he walked over to the warmers and plopped pureed potatoes and green beans on his plate. It felt like everyone was watching him. No, it didn't _feel _like that — everyone _was _watching him.

His stomach twisted. He had never thought he would miss Tully, but at least he had known next to whom to sit during dinner, and he had also known that the man would be _the only one _who would rape him.

He found an empty chair and quickly ate his meal, without looking around or saying a word to anyone. Immediately after dinner he felt nauseous. Now he had to go to his cell. Would there be another Nazi rapist waiting for him? He didn't even dare to hope for someone nicer and quietly retreated to his cell.

It didn't take long before he got company. By reflex he backed away when someone entered the cell, although he relaxed a little when he saw the man, who was of his age. His skin was dark, he had a head full of black curls and his arms were muscled like that of a bodybuilder, his veins protruding.

"Hey," the man said, flopping down on the empty bed. "I'm Isaiah."

His voice sounded warm, familiar — making him suspicious.

"Juice," he muttered.

The man had light brown eyes with which he was staring at Juice. Uncomfortably he shifted on the bed, wondering what the other was thinking. Whether he was, despite his friendly demeanor, also only looking for a mouth to shove his dick in.

By reflex, he shoved to the side when Isaiah sat down next to him. He felt so exhausted, he was afraid to cry at the tiniest thing.

"Nobody is going to hurt you in here, Juice."

His warm voice sounded treacherous. He flinched. "I got no one here," he muttered. "I've been in jail long enough to know what's going to happen to me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He felt a hand on his knee, but Isaiah pulled back once Juice froze.

Juice was met by brown, worried eyes. "Stop... Stop with being nice," he said weary. "Just — just take what you want from me."

He didn't want to hope for a friend and end up disappointed again. For why would someone want to be friends with him? He was a rat. He was pathetic.

"I might be locked up, but I'm not an animal," Isaiah answered.

Skittishly Juice looked up. A smirk crossed Isaiah's lips.

"Although I won't deny that you're a handsome man. A broken man. Like a snapped rose — but still a rose."

Juice was disgusted with himself when his cheeks started to flush. It was just so long ago someone besides Tully had said something nice to him...

"But I'm not a rapist," Isaiah said. "You have nothing to fear, Juice. Not from me, and not from anyone else. Nobody will touch you if you don't want them to."

Confused, Juice looked aside. "Why? I'm a threat to no one."

"You aren't," the man answered. "But your brother is."

Juice frowned. "My brother? I don't have a brother."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Damn — why did he tell him that? Why the hell would he care if people believed he had a brother when it would offer him protection?

"You do have a brother. You look exactly alike." Another smirk crossed Isaiah's face. "And I would know, for I've studied him pretty well when he was still inside."

Juice felt light in the head.

This was making no sense. He was going crazy. Really crazy.

It wasn't a prison they had taken him to — it was a madhouse.


	3. Brothers

The two were indisputably brothers — but stating that they looked exactly alike had been a lie. Actually, he couldn't think of two inmates more different. Shades had been untouchable. Not a single threat bothered him, a provoking grin had always curled his lips upwards and he was all confidence. The look in his eyes had always been calculating, his voice mocking, always meant to draw others out.

Isaiah had always admired him for his attitude. Many nights he had fantasized how it would be to share a cell with him, how demanding his voice would sound when he whispered in his ear the things he wanted Isaiah to do. Fingers gliding across heated skin, lips searching for pleasure in the darkness, heavy breathing drowning out all others sounds...

It had always remained a fantasy. Shades had never shown any interest in him, nor had Isaiah known how to show his own interest. After all, he didn't want everyone to know that he liked men. In prison there was always this absurd thought that gay people would want to have sex with literally everyone. Well — nothing could be further from the truth. He was really picky and except for Shades, nobody around here had attracted his attention.

He knew all about the whispers. That Shades had slept with cellmate. That the man had been his lover. Whether it was true, Isaiah had never found out. There were many rumors going around, especially about a man like Shades. He seemed to thrive in gossip — the more the better. The more lies were spread about him, the harder it was to unravel the truth. The ex-con was cloaked in mystery. When the man turned out to have a twin, Isaiah had been barely surprised. _Nothing _could surprise him concerning Shades.

He aimed his attention back to Juice. Because of his mohawk and tattoos on his head he looked like someone who wanted to look tougher than he actually was. Contrary to his brother, he didn't possess a shred of confidence, as he was sitting on the bed all cramped up. Isaiah was sure he would have wrapped his arms around himself if he had been alone. He was broken, his life must have been hard. Some had the strength to become stronger — others didn't.

Juice's brown eyes showed nothing but confusion. The knowledge that he had a brother was obviously hard to swallow. Although he had been scared at first, there were other emotions flickering in his eyes now. Incomprehension. Anger.

The man leaned forward, rubbing his face, mumbling inaudible words.

Isaiah let him be. He felt the urge to swing an arm around his shoulders, feeling how close his tears were. Yet, he hadn't forgotten how the men had tensed when he had touched him a couple minutes back, and from all the other things Juice had said he concluded that he hadn't been protected in the prison he was coming from. It wasn't hard to imagine what would happen to a pretty boy like him. Even when Shades managed to get him out, it would probably take a lot of time before his brother had dealt with his traumas.

"Who is he?" Juice's voice sounded hoarse when he suddenly started to talk again. "I don't get it — how can he have the power to move me to this place? And — and why? Why now? If I had known I had a brother, things would have been so different... Then they would never have... then I never would have..." A sob escaped his lips.

Again, it took Isaiah a hell of an effort not to wrap his arms around the crying man. Instead, he decided to talk to distract him. "His name is Shades. I don't know his real name. To be honest I don't know much about him at all — he is powerful, he has the right connections... But how he did it, I can't tell you."

Juice sniffled quietly, wiping his eyes. "Someone had already promised to kill me. All this — all this should have been over. I thought... I thought to have found peace now. What use do I have when I'm in prison? I don't get it... I just don't get it..."

"You won't stay inside long, Juice," Isaiah told him. He offered his cellmate an encouraging smile when he looked him in the eye. "I'm sure your brother will get you out of this place within a month."

Incomprehension filled Juice's eyes. He was scared. Scared to hope and end up disappointed again. Very carefully, Isaiah laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know what horrible things you've gone through, but you're no longer on your own, Juice. Your brother will care for you, and as long as you're here I will be your friend."

"Why — why would you want to be my friend?" he muttered.

"Because you look like a nice guy. You might not be able to see it yourself, but I do." He winked at him. "And my people skills never betrayed me."

Admitted — his motives were a little more selfish than he wanted Juice to know. A friendship with the man would guarantee that he would see Shades again — and maybe, Isaiah's care for his twin brother would lead to the fact that Shades would finally see _him _too.

* * *

Isaiah was nice — really nice.

Maybe a little too nice.

Three days after Juice had arrived in Seagate, they spoke about former relationships and once again Isaiah casually mentioned that he felt attracted to him and that he wouldn't mind to get to know each other a little better physically.

Juice had seriously considered it. After all, Tully had been the last one touching him and he couldn't wait to replace these memories. Isaiah was nice. He would be gentle. Juice might not feel attracted to men, but he did crave for loving touches, for warmth and security. Whether it was offered by a man or a woman, didn't matter much to him right now. He had been with many women without feeling anything for them.

At the same time he was also afraid. Afraid that his body would freeze, that he would find himself back in Tully's cell. He knew he was traumatized — maybe he would never be able to have sex anymore. He had always enjoyed the warmth of a female body, even if it was just for one night, and the thought that Tully might have changed something in him that would increase his loneliness for the rest of his life, was suffocating.

After a few days Juice reluctantly told Isaiah about Tully. The man wasn't stupid — he knew something had happened in Stockton. Ever since they met, Isaiah had respectfully turned his back towards him when Juice was changing clothes, even before Juice could consider if the fact that other men would see him half or completely naked bothered him. It made him trust his cellmate a little more. The conversations they were having went deeper, and at some point Juice just couldn't hold back anymore. It all came out. All the mistakes he'd made, the devastating consequences of them — and in the end, he cast his glance at the ground and told him about the monster his club had handed him to.

"I can't believe those bastards did that to you," Isaiah said, shaking his head. "Some things you don't even do to your worst enemy — let alone someone you once loved."

Juice bent his head. "Their love was long gone."

"They will get what they deserve."

Confused, Juice looked up. "What?"

"You're closely related to one of the most infamous gangsters of Harlem," Isaiah answered. "You think Shades will let them get away? He will make them bleed from places they'll never thought to bleed from."

Juice flinched. "I don't want that," he muttered. He just wanted to start over, he just wanted to forget about his life in Charming.

"He will be determined. His family is disgraced — and you're his _only _family. It will damage his reputation if he will leave this unanswered."

Juice stared at his hands. It was unbelievable that there was really someone out there who cared about his fate, who even wanted to avenge him. At most days, it all still was beyond his understanding. It all sounded to good to be true. He would have to wait and see...

* * *

On a Saturday morning, six weeks after his arrival, a guard told him to pack his stuff. Confused, he gathered his belongings. Would he really meet his brother today? Or had his brother came to his senses, realizing it was impossible to get a cop killer out of jail? His anxiety started to gnaw at him. What if he was sent back to Stockton? What if his brothers had learnt about his disappearance and demanded his head?

He swallowed nervously.

A hand landed upon his shoulder. "Don't worry," Isaiah said. "A whole new life is waiting for you, trust me. I'll get out in a few weeks, then I'll come to see you, okay?"

These words meant a lot to Juice. Since all his former friendships had ended in a cruel way, it had been hard to consider his cellmate as a friend. However, the man had been a great support the past weeks — he had felt a closer a connection with him than with anyone else in the past months, or maybe even years. The thought that their friendship wasn't one-sided, did him good.

"Thank you for everything," he said softly, wrapping his arms around the man. "I would like to... stay friends."

Isaiah let go of him, squeezing his shoulder. "You can always write me," he winked. "If you can't live without me for another six weeks."

A small smile crossed Juice's face. He had never sent a letter to anyone. Maybe he would really do so. "Maybe I will."

The eyes of the man lighted up. Juice knew there hadn't been a lot of people visiting him the past weeks.

They said their goodbyes, then Juice followed the guard.

He felt sick with nervousness. Once Isaiah had told him about his brother's existence, he had expected the man to visit him during one of the visiting hours. It had never happened. The only things he knew about his brother, were coming from Isaiah and while he walked through the hallway, his anxiety flared up again.

He was an idiot — believing that he had a brother who suddenly wanted to get to know him after thirty years. Of course he had no brother. For all he knew, Isaiah could have told him this to make sure he wouldn't kill himself. It surely was the mob who was waiting on the other side of the door; they still had a score to settle.

His breathing fell heavier, his steps becoming more and more unstable. Dark spots danced before his eyes. Yet, he managed to drag himself through the hallway.

A door slammed shut behind him. He was taken to a room where he finally got his own clothes back. It felt like he hadn't worn them in years. Feeling a little uncomfortable in his jeans he left the room. The guard led him to a counter where he had to fill in some forms.

Once he laid down the pen, he took a deep breath. What now?

Questioningly, he looked at the guard.

"You're free to go," he was told.

Juice put his wallet away and shoved his hands in his pockets. Lost, he looked around. Where to go now? He took a few uncertain steps towards the exit. People were coming and going; nobody paid attention to him.

With a swollen throat and shivering hands he left prison, his eyes squinting because of the bright sunlight. For a moment he stood still, taking a deep breath. Then he continued to walk towards the parking lot. Maybe he could take a cab — but to where?

And then, he froze.

There he was, at the beginning of the parking lot. Wearing a grey suit, he was leaning against the front of a black Escalade. His arms crossed in front of chest, the sun reflecting in his sunglasses. His shoulders tensed a bit, then the man slowly moved a hand to his shades and took them off.

Juice stopped breathing when they stared each other in the eye.


	4. Reunion

Shades had his contacts within Seagate. People who'd kept an eye on his twin, who he had held responsible for his brother's well-being. That's how he knew Juice hadn't been resilient at all.

One look at the man convinced him they'd been right.

His brother stood still a few feet away from him. Huddled, his face pale. His eyes only held Shade's glance for a second; then they darted around, looking for a way out. He acted like he was facing his executioner instead of the one who'd dragged him out of hell.

A great deal needed to be done before this skittish boy would be useful to him.

Shades spread his arms, putting a warm smile on his face while he stepped forward. "Juan Carlos. Juice. Whatever you want me to call you — I'm glad to finally meet you, little brother."

The last word seemed to get stuck in his throat, and ultimately rolled over his lips with obvious reluctance. His brother. Even though they were of the same age, it wasn't hard to tell who was going to play the big brother role. He really had a little brother. He couldn't get used to it yet.

It was a while back since he had looked into his biological family. Having a twin had been a shock, and despite all the preparations he had made it hadn't really struck him. He had a brother.

Hesitantly, Juice took a step forward, and Shades wrapped his arms tightly around him. He was shaking like a leaf, obviously feeling so nervous he was about to faint. Realizing that his brother was such a ball of grief called up repulsion — and yet, he also felt vengefulness because someone had made such a mess of his brother. The two emotions were clashing, and it made him feel uncomfortable. He hadn't expected their reunion to have such an emotional impact on him.

After all, he hadn't brought Juice to Harlem to play his big brother. But seeing how broken the boy was — it didn't leave him cold. Even if he wished it would.

A little impatiently he rubbed Juice's back until the man finally let go of him. Ashamed, the guy stared at the ground.

"Come on, let's leave this place." He gave his brother a wink, walked to the driver's side of the car and sat down behind the wheel.

Juice gave him a doubtful look; only when Shades motioned him to get into the car he sat down at the other seat. Shades started the car. It was a half hour drive to his penthouse, hopefully the silence wasn't going to be too horrible. Either way, they would spend a lot of time together, so he had to break the ice anyway.

"Your cellmate..." he started. "Was he good to you?"

Juice had bent his head and stared at his hands. It took a while before he answered. "Yeah. He was the nicest person I've met in a long while."

Shades gritted his teeth. What a pathetic crybaby. He didn't even _try_ to man up a bit. Had he really been in some motorgang? Shades couldn't imagine. Unless this was the reason they'd wanted to get rid of him.

"How come I didn't know about us?" Juice asked once silence had settled between them. This time, he did look aside. Their eyes met. Was it suspicion he was reading in his eyes? Maybe the kid was less soft-hearted than he'd assumed. "Ma never said anything about you."

Shades shrugged his shoulders. "She probably felt too ashamed of selling one of her kids."

"You're — you're sold?"

Shades didn't answer. He had understood him very well.

"But why now? Why did you contact me now?"

_Because I didn't need you until now. _

He however kept those words to himself. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders. "Only a couple years ago I found out who I really was, and that I had a twin. At first I only held a grudge, since I grew up on the filthy streets while you were sitting on Mommy's lap by the fireplace. Later, I realized you couldn't do much about that either."

He moved up a gear. His fingers were cramped around the stick and he forced himself to relax a bit.

"I've never been on her lap," Juice muttered, staring out of the windshield. "She wasn't exactly a loving mother."

"At least you had a bed to sleep in and food on your plate," Shades answered annoyed.

He swallowed a sigh. It hadn't been his intention to bring up their childhood already — he'd never wanted to bring it up in the first place — but apparently, he hadn't dealt with it like he thought he had. It made no sense. If he looked at the pathetic piece of shit next to him, he'd done fine for himself, even if he had been on his own since he was 6.

Another silence fell. Shades fought the urge to turn on the music; maybe Juice would start to talk if the quiet continued. He was curious to what he would say.

"What's your real name?" Juice asked after a while. "Isaiah couldn't tell me."

Shades didn't like to share his birth name with others. It always gave him some sense of vulnerability. Names were powerful. A feeling of unease crept upon the inhabitants of Harlem when they heard the name Shades. Referring to him with his birth name, didn't have that effect on people. It was more intimate — and he didn't like intimacy. He valued his privacy and a certain degree of distance between him and other people.

"For now, Shades will do," he answered.

Juice muttered something inaudible. Shades kicked the pedal. Pretending to be the loving brother didn't go as natural as he'd hoped.

"Do you even know what you're doing to yourself by freeing me from prison?" Juice asked after a while.

Shades gave him a brief look. His brother had bent his head again, twisting a golden skull around his thumb. It didn't look very classy. He looked like a boy who wanted to look tough but was anything but — and who hadn't completely put his puberty behind him.

"You mean your little biker club?" He snorted. "They can do shit."

"I wasn't referring to them alone," his twin muttered. "Years ago I fled from Queens because the mob were after me. That's why I joined the Sons. They offered me protection."

"Well, they fucked it up pretty well then," he huffed.

"I was the one fucking things up."

Shades considered to dig deeper, but decided against it, doubting he would be very convincing in pretending that he cared about whatever the hell that dumb ass had done. After a while however, Juice's nervous fidgeting with his rings was annoying him.

"Hey. _Relax,_" he said when the boy turned his face towards him. "I don't care who's after you. I'll make sure no one will harm you. Okay?"

Juice nodded. The hope that was shining in his eyes, filled Shades with disgust. So dependent. So easy to manipulate.

But that was exactly what he needed.


	5. Restless

Juice was sitting on the edge of the made up bed and looked around. This was his room, for now. He even had his private bathroom. None of it really landed. He was free, but it didn't feel that way. It felt like a cop could barge through the door any moment, telling him all this was a misunderstanding. He barely dared to go to the living room. What should he say to his brother? The man hadn't even wanted to tell him his real name. Despite the fact that the man had invited him into his house, assuring him that he would be safe, there was a restless feeling in his chest. He still didn't understand why Shades had done this for him. He seemed to have his stuff well in order, so why would he allow his messed up twin into his perfect life? He couldn't shake off the idea that the man was keeping something from him, although he had no idea what. Maybe it was just because of everything he'd been through. He had learned not to count on anybody — not even on himself. Trusting someone again was difficult, it was hard to push away his suspicion.

Juice however realized he couldn't sit here forever. He had to face his brother, to get to know him, to figure out how he could build a new life from here. And so, after taking a long, hot shower, he returned to the living room.

Shades was standing in front of the glass wall watching the city surrounding them, his back towards Juice. Juice wasn't sure whether his brother had heard him come in. Nervously, he ran a hand across his mohawk.

"You uh — you got a nice place," he said awkwardly.

Shades turned around, lifting the corner of his mouth. "I've worked hard for my money."

Juice was about to ask him _how_, but since Isaiah had called him a gangster, he didn't want to create the impression that he wanted to meddle in his shady activities.

"In what kind of house did you live?"

Hesitating, Juice sat down on the grey couch. All furniture looked new, and as if Shades replaced them once in while just because he had the money. "A two-room apartment. On the third floor. There weren't much high buildings in Charming." He paused, then he added: "In our clubhouse I had a room too. I spent more time there than in my actual home."

At least before he ran off. He doubted Shades cared about anything he said, but filling the room with meaningless words was still better than a nerve-racking silence.

"How long can I stay here?" he asked quietly. He didn't want to be a burden to his brother. It however was hard to figure out what steps to take. Would he be able to find a job? What kind of job would that be, with his criminal record and lack of references?

"As long as you need," Shades answered. "Don't worry about the money. I will be often away from home to do business, so it's not like we will be in each other's pockets all the time. Just take the time to recover from everything you've been through. All this time I told myself it would take a while anyway."

_Recover from everything you've been through_... He had no idea where to begin. How did one deal with a series of rapes, with the hatred of the people you've loved the most, with the loss of everything that had once been important to you?

He didn't know. He really didn't know.

"Come on, let's get a bite to eat. Thereafter I will show you Harlem's Paradise. I bought it a while ago."

Juice nodded hesitantly and got up. His brother was nice, there was no denying that. He did his best; for him, the whole situation had to be strange too. A small smile crept upon his lips. His brother had done all right to himself... maybe he could help him to get his life back on track too. After all, wasn't that what family was for?

* * *

Shades took him to a classy place. The way Shades touched on the subjects, showed him that small talk wasn't his thing, but he neither wanted to discuss personal stuff. He believed his brother usually discussed business, making him wonder what other contacts he had.

"Are uh — are you in a relationship or something?"

"Nah." He drank from his beer. "I confine myself to business relations. Did you leave behind some sweetheart?"

Juice shook his head. It had been a long time since he had a girlfriend, and it had only lasted a few months. He had never been good with serious relationships; usually he was so afraid to fuck up that he backed off when things were getting serious. Especially when all his brothers started to have girlfriends — although it didn't end well for most — he had missed it. Someone who waited for him at the end of the day, who told him about her day, who held him when he was feeling down. Now however, he was glad he had met no one special. He would have dragged her through hell.

It was for the best that he was alone. He'd hurt enough people.

"Good. Makes life a lot easier."

A waitress put their plates in front of them. His brother had ordered lobster for the both of them. Juice didn't find the courage to tell his brother that he was actually a vegetarian, although he hadn't always been able to avoid meat in prison either. Although it was against his principles, his last good meal was so long ago that the lobster tasted good anyway.

They ate in silence. He noticed his brother was observing him, and instead of answering his glance Juice stared at his food. What would the man think of him? He probably considered him as a failure. Juice felt small next to him, meaningless. He looked good in his suit; Juice could feel the tattoos burn on his scalp. He was wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, he looked nowhere as classy as his brother and even when he did put on a suit, he was sure he wouldn't feel like himself in it.

After dinner, Shades took him to the nightclub he was a co-owner of. He introduced Juice to Mariah, a black woman who turned out to be the other owner. She showed him a wide smile, although the look in her eyes was suspicious; it rather looked like she believed that he was a beggar who was after his brother's money. He didn't exactly feel comfortable around her and was relieved when Shades started to give him a tour of the building.

They got themselves a drink at the bar, where after people slowly started to trickle in. Piano music filled the room, accompanied by a sultry woman's voice.

"Enjoy yourself tonight," Shades winked. "You have to celebrate your freedom, little brother."

Juice feigned a smile and nodded as convincingly as he could; the last thing he wanted was his brother to act like his babysitter for the rest of the night.

Juice listened to the music and smiled at pretty women now and then, but quickly he realized he didn't fit into this place because of the simple clothes he was wearing. Everyone was dressed up, except for him. The ambiance was contrasting strongly with the nights at the clubhouse, and suddenly he missed that casualness. Slipping off his bar stool, he headed outside and breathed in the fresh air.

Had he just been a witness of his own future? Would he be dressed like that too, one day? He had a feeling nothing would remain of the old Juice. Which was probably for the best anyway.

His hands deep in his pockets he strolled through the streets. He didn't care much about his safety, although it was weird not to feel the familiar outline of his Glock behind his waistband. After a while, he passed a portico where a group of twelve-year-olds was hanging out. For a moment he could see himself; at that age, he'd been on the streets a lot too. He had often felt lonely — and knowing that he'd had an unknown brother at the other side of the city who hadn't felt much better, caused a pit in his stomach. Something cold spread through his veins. His mother had never told him anything about his brother. Not a word. He felt betrayed.

The door of the portico opened, and the boys piled in, chatting loudly. There was a young woman in the doorway, greeting them with a smile. Juice stared at her; most women gave street kids like them a wide berth. The woman had a neat appearance; a tan skin, her eyebrows dark and well-formed. She was wearing a reddish brown shawl that was covering the back of her head and her shoulders; most of her waving, dark strands however could be seen.

Her eyes met his, as if she caught him staring. She even smiled at him in the same way she had smiled to the boys.

"You want to take a look inside as well?" she asked friendly. Her voice was warm, with an accent he couldn't identify.

Juice's glance glided across the portico, he didn't even know what kind of building it was. An evangelic church, he read. Quickly he shook his head, and before he knew it his legs started to move and he continued to walk, away from a place he could only besmirch with all the horrible things he had done.

Yet, he couldn't forget about the woman's warm smile. It had been a long while since someone had looked at him with such an open view, and the further he walked, the stronger the gnawing feeling in his stomach became.


	6. Author's Note

Dear readers,

Since I have twenty (!) unfinished stories which I still try to update, I have decided to focus on two stories at the same time and finish them one by one – which means multiple chapters a week. I've decided to let my readers decide what stories I'm going to finish first, so please leave a comment on this chapter if you want me to work on this one. I will finish all my stories, but it might take a long while before I return to the ones there aren't much people interested in.

For the amazing readers who read multiple of my works, sorry for the spam!

(I know many readers aren't comfortable with commenting, so leaving a (-) or something does the job too. ;D)


	7. Pathetic

Having the time to do whatever you wanted... That was something Juice never had before. When he was a kid, his mother always made him do chores; when he worked for the mob they always told him what to do, and things hadn't been that different with the Sons. There was no such thing as a vacation. Sure, in prison he'd had plenty of time, but no freedom.

And now he had all the time in the world — but no clue what to do with it.

Being alone wasn't his thing. He could go into town, but what then? What would he do? He had no friends to hang out with and he neither knew how to make them. His brother was barely at home and he didn't say much about his activities. Usually, Juice just laid on the couch and watched Netflix, yet it wasn't enough to distract himself. Bad memories kept his mind busy, about the traumatic events in prison and the bitter ending of his life as a Son. The faces of his former friends flashed by. Chibs. Jax. Tig. People he had considered as friends, as family, but who'd delivered him to a rapist and a murderer.

He exhaled shakily. He had to do something, had to keep himself busy. Taking a walk, going to the mall... However, that thought called up his anxiety immediately. What if the Sons knew that he was here? What if they'd sent someone after him? What if the mob got wind of it? He barely knew his way around here, he had no idea where to run to. Isaiah would be out in a few weeks. Would he still want to hang out? Or had it only been prison talk and would they go their own ways? A few days ago, he had considered writing the guy a letter. Should he really do so? Inside, he'd told him everything, but doing the same on paper was too big a step. Furthermore, he'd just gotten his freedom back, against all odds. He couldn't start to nag about little things, right? If his brother found out, he would be disgusted with him and he might even send him back to prison.

No — he couldn't give in to his fears. He'd done that for far too long, and this time, his fears were irrational. Harlem was enormous; as long as he was careful, nobody would be able to find him. His ties to his past were cut, the phone and debit card Shades had given him new. He had to believe that someone as powerful as Shades — who'd been able to set him free despite getting life — would also make sure that no one could find him here.

Despite his pep talk, his fingers were shaking as he tied his shoes. A little walk, he could do that. He just needed to take small steps.

On his way downstairs, he had to suppress the urge to go back twice. Yet he pulled through, telling himself he would be back in prison next week if he kept hiding like a wounded animal. Shades might not have said it out loud, but he knew his brother found him a pathetic guy—a disappointment.

It was cold outside and he pulled his jacket closer around him. The air was a threatening grey as if it also wanted to chase him back inside. Was it an omen?

_You're talking about the _sky_, Juice! Don't be such a damn pussy._

Juice averted his eyes and started his walk. Just a walk around the block. His hands already felt clammy when he rounded the first corner. The rumbling of a bike in the distance made him flinch; the sight of a man with greasy black hair made him freeze. He'd never known that a simple walk could be so stressful. He breathed rapidly — if someone would start to talk to him right now, he would surely panic.

But nobody spoke to him; nobody looked at him. When he passed a metro station, he doubted. Would he go back to Harlem's Paradise? To see if his brother was there — or maybe he could stroll around the neighborhood, just like a few days ago?

In a flash, he remembered the friendly face of the woman in front of the church. Her warm smile, the non-judgmental look in her eyes... He shook off the image. It was ridiculous. As if she would give him a second look once she knew about the things he'd done. She had just been polite, that was all.

But it was exactly what he longed for. Someone nice — someone with no ulterior motives.

* * *

An hour later, Juice was staring at the sign again. _Victory - Evangelical Church_, he read. He sat down on the second step of stairs leading to a closed real estate office. He lighted up a smoke and sighed; he had no idea what he was doing here. No way that he was going inside. Was he hoping that the woman would see him and start a conversation? Shame filled his heart. What had become of him? He no longer dared to take the initiative and he had traveled for over an hour only to see the smile of a woman. He was disgusted with himself. He was so weak. So pathetic. No wonder everyone spitted in his face.

The accusations buzzed through his head while he was sitting there on these stairs. He wanted to leave, but his legs felt too heavy. His fists were clenched, his nails cutting the soft skin of his palms.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead.

It started to rain, night fell. He still couldn't find the strength to get up. He was just sitting there, his body ice-cold, tears mixed with raindrops.

He felt unworthy to catch the raindrops; he wasn't even worth breathing in oxygen.

Suddenly, someone laid a hand on his knee. Juice shifted aside; he felt the hand sliding to his groin.

_"Daddy's here, little boy. Are you going to be a good boy tonight?"_

Panic squeezed his throat and he shoved back across the bed, away from the grinning face of Ron Tully.

Something hard pressed against his lower back, making his vision less blurry.

He wasn't in his cell. He was outside in the rain.

And the man who'd knelt next to him wasn't his cellmate, nor did he touch him in intimate places. Nevertheless, Juice felt as filthy as when the man would have touched him there.

The stranger had warm brown eyes and thick, curly black hair. Juice estimated him somewhere in his fifty's.

"Are you alright? Why don't you come in? We have warm soup and it's dry." The man nodded to the other side of the road, to the church.

Quickly, Juice shook his head. "N-no, thanks," he stammered.

He didn't belong there.

The man smiled and nodded as if he understood. "I will bring you a bowl of soup. And an umbrella."

Juice failed to object.

_This is what you wanted, right? That someone looks after you?,_ a voice sneered in his head. _That's why you're here, hm?_

So desperate. So pathetic.

It made him feel so sick he was sure he couldn't eat a damn thing.

The man turned around and headed to the building. Juice wanted to get up, wanted to leave, but it felt like he was cemented to the stairs. He couldn't move. His heart was racing in his chest, and a wave of fear washed over him, even though he had no idea what scared him so much.

But the fear was there, undeniably, and it flogged him like the lashing rain. And, weak as he was, he couldn't think of a way to defend himself against it.

* * *

**I know, it's been forever since I updated this, I'm so sorry! But I finally decided what way to go. I know Juice is in a dark place right now, but there's light on the way. ;) **


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